Ribbon in the Sky
by nickersoncrazy
Summary: Nancy and Ned, engaged. Plotless and fluffy. Oneshot.


**Hi hi, everyone! It's been so long since I last wrote that when I got this idea a few weeks ago, it began haunting me and wouldn't stop gnawing at my brain until I wrote it down. This one follows Rapturous, but doesn't really depend on it. Hope you like!**

**Happy New Year!**

* * *

She loved the way the diamond on her finger glittered in the shifting light.

She heaved a happy sigh, stretched her legs out in front of her on the sofa, and sank deep into its cushiony warmth. On her lap was spread a heavy stack of scores of glossy bridal magazines. She took a sip of her coffee, and stole a quick glance at the window and was thankful she wasn't outside. Night was settling in, and Chicago's merciless, biting cold winter had already reached its peak—hopefully—with the snow steadily descending from the sky and gradually layering the ground inch over inch. Utterly repulsive weather, she thought, and closed her eyes.

Her apartment was self-sufficient, simply but tastefully decorated, and most of the time spic-and-span. Except when Ned was over—which was a lot, really—he didn't completely get the concept of neatness. Boys will be boys, Bess had said, with a face that said I-have-a-diploma-in-the-subject. The telly flickered in one corner, obviously not given much thought to, its volume turned down to nearly mute. Which made it feasible for her to hear George and Bess bickering and clawing at the other over baby-pink bridesmaid dresses, of course, the latter for, the former against, but she chose to tune them out for the time being. The Christmas tree was still up, lights and all. She remembered how, despite being tall enough, Ned had carried her so she could reach the very top to put the angel on, and blushed like a fool at the memory. The lights were still sparkling, and for a brief moment she compared the brightness to the life they had ahead, then stopped herself before she got unnecessarily maudlin and syrupy.

For one delicious, self-indulgent moment she detached herself from it all, and let the bliss of reality sink in.

She was getting married. She sharply sucked in a breath subconsciously. God, she was actually getting married.

The thought made her want to jump up and do a happy-dance, much like a little girl with her first official tube of lipgloss. But she fought against the urge with every iota of control she possessed. Nancy Nickerson, she thought. It had such a nice ring to it. She shivered, half with excitement half from the cold, and her eyes were invariably drawn back to the window. To her, winter was a severe, harsh climatic condition, the only consolation being Christmas, the only warmth being derived from evenings snuggled up with her boyf—_fiancé_, she corrected, heart fluttering_—_in front of the fire.

Not that she was complaining.

"What is wrong with you?" Bess cut through her musing, staring at Nancy as though a second head had grown on her shoulders.

"What?"

George smirked and ran a hand through her customary short hair. "You've been grinning like an idiot with your eyes closed."

Nancy blushed, and saw that the cousins had finished their fight without embedding any visible scars on the other. "I was just thinking…another cup of coffee would be lovely. You know, cold weather and all." And blushed again.

"Uh-huh. She was probably thinking of baby names," George said dryly, brows arched.

"I—"

She held up a hand. "No need to get defensive. I suppose betrothed women are entitled to be a little dopey and mushy now and then."

Nancy laughed. "Okay. You got me." She shook off what was lingering of the reverie and straightened. "Now let's talk wardrobe." She drew her legs toward her chest and motioned for Bess to sit down while George pulled up a chair. "What do you think of this one?" she asked, eyes shining, pointing to a model in the magazine flaunting a wedding dress.

"I think that woman really has scales for skin under all that makeup."

She rolled her eyes. "Really, Bess, come on. You like?"

The dress in question was a gown with embroidered bodice, silk taffeta skirt, with pickups. The colour lay somewhere within the vicinity of off-white and ivory. It was the kind of gown that would have Ned's jaw touch the church floor. Which was her primary criterionin zeroing in on the right one.

"I like," Bess said slowly, scrutinizing it carefully. "Keep it in mind. By the way, you've got an appointment with that designer I was talking about at four tomorrow. She's so good, you'll love her."

Nancy smiled. "Great. Thanks." She flipped the magazine over and yawned. Then grinned. "Gosh, there's so much to do. The gowns, the shower, venue, guests, music, food, and everything else."

George shrugged. "Which is why some people elope. Eliminates the stress."

For a brief second the excitement drained out of Nancy, and was replaced by anxiety. "I'm a little, just a _little_, nervous. We'll pull it off, right?"

"Cold feet already?" Bess grinned from ear to ear. "If you chicken out, I'd be more than happy to take your place."

"No, thanks. Besides whatever happened to that new guy? What's his name, Ryan?"

"Oh." The look in her eyes was lethal. "That cheating piece of slime. I told him to fry in hell."

"Atta girl."

"Yeah." She smiled again. "So, you expecting The One tonight?"

"Of course. I hope he makes it with this weather." She rubbed an eye tiredly. "You guys wanna crash here?"

"No, I don't think the roads are that bad," George said, stood up, stretched and gathered her things. "And there seems to be a lull right now. C'mon, Bess, time to go. Bye, Nancy."

"Thanks for the help. I'm going to have to grill you both the next few months."

"No problem. As long as we don't have to wear baby-pink."

"Resorting to blackmail, huh?"

"Whatever it takes," she replied with feeling.

Bess yawned and then got up. "See you, Nan. Tell Ned I'm willing to be your understudy for the wedding."

"Done."

Nancy shut the door behind them, and retired back to the couch. And wondered where Ned was. She closed her eyes, promising herself a reward of rest for ten minutes, tops.

And fell asleep like a rock.

--

Ned felt his heart turn into a marshmallow in his chest when he booted the door shut behind him and saw her sleeping, her mouth open just a fraction. He walked over to the couch, knelt in front of it, and flicked her nose lightly.

"Hey Nan," he said softly. "Look who's home."

The enthusiastic response he'd expected turned out to be a mere snore.

He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, slipped his arms under her, and lifted her off the couch. He remembered vaguely her telling him that his sweeping her off into his arms made her feel breathless. He caught the scent of her hair and felt his own breath go shaky.

He carried her into the bedroom and laid her carefully on the bed—a deluxe king-size because he was a bedhog. Or so she claimed. He sat on the its edge and leaned down to place a kiss in her hair. He'd give her ten minutes, he decided—okay, two—before waking her up. He glanced at his watch. And waited.

Patience might be a virtue, but he couldn't have cared less.

He gave her shoulder a squeeze before shaking it gently. "Wakie-wakie, Nan," he murmured, leaning closer. When that didn't work he began tickling her ribs, and gave a little yelp when she kicked him in the knee.

"Go to hell," she muttered.

"Aw. I love you too, honey."

He counted another thirty rushed seconds before tickling her again, this time using a pillow to barricade himself from any more of her karate moves.

She groaned softly. "I was hoping it was Santa on a late visit," she said dryly, eyes still closed, "but it's only you."

"Yeah." He slid in next to her and put his arm around her waist. "Now be a darling and get up."

"We're not married yet," she said, her voice thick with sleep. "Make your own dinner."

"Mmm. Dinner sounds good." He nipped her bottom lip. "But you taste better."

"Please. Don't make me cry."

He simply stroked her arm and touched her forehead with his. "I risked my life and battled this snowstorm single-handedly to get here. Not even the most treacherous, tumultuous of situations can keep me from being with my girl."

"My hero."

"You've got the cutest little snore."

"I'm welling up at the compliment."

"I like being there when you first open your eyes."

"Oh, stop."

"Now open those angelic eyes so my heart can go pitter-patter."

"You're not going to let me sleep, are you?"

He shrugged. "That's the plan."

"Okay." She opened her eyes, turned on her side and smiled at him sleepily. She pulled his head down and planted a quick kiss on his lips—a promise of further contact later on. "So."

"So." He kissed her on the eyebrow. "I suppose I should ask you how your day was. It's very…couply."

She laughed softly. "Yeah. Bess and George came over." She rested her head on his shoulder after absently pressing her lips to it. "The wedding. It's all I can think of."

"I know," he said softly. "Me too."

"You excited?"

"Sure. I feel like a kid in a chocolate factory." He traced a finger down her cheek. His. After so long, so terribly long, so many fights, misunderstandings, the heartbreaks, rough-edged words, complications, she was still his. "Nan, I love you. You know that, right?"

She smiled. "I've got a fair idea."

"No," he said, brushing her hair off her face to look into her eyes. "Nan, I meant I love you so much that it scares me."

"I know what you meant." She buried her face against his neck.

"Love's kind of scary, huh?"

She looked up, meeting his eyes. "Yeah, it is," she whispered, her voice unexpectedly husky and wrapped her arms around him. "And I want you to scare the living daylights out of me."

"Gotcha."

He pulled her close enough for their bodies to press. His mouth coalesced urgently with hers, hot and hungry, nipping, pressing short, sweet kisses to her lips. His hands worked their way up, caressing the hypertactile skin at the small of her back with a touch that could send a woman straight into a coma. He felt her shudder in his arms, and pulled back for a second, then placed another white-hot kiss on her mouth. She responded just as passionately, her hands weaving through his thick hair. He shifted his mouth to her ear, tugging at the lobe. She felt a myriad of sensations exploding in her as he began to nuzzle her neck and probe the slight depression at the base of her throat. Her knuckles skimmed his cheek, her teeth grazed his jaw, and she jolted when the tip of his tongue touched the corner of her mouth.

"Tell me it's real," she whispered suddenly with urgency, the blue of her irises deep with passion. "Tell me it's all real. The wedding, you, everything."

He bit her bottom lip hard.

"Ouch!"

"It's real, apparently."

"You idiot," she said ruffling his hair.

He grinned. "So, was that scary?"

"Yeah." She was surprised she could hear her voice over the ferocious thudding of her heart. "Oh yeah."

He smiled and took her hand in his, stroking his thumb over her palm. "Do you know what took me so long to get here?"

"Storm?"

"No." He grinned. "The girls."

"The girls?"

"Yeah," he said, the goofy grin still pasted on his face. "You don't know? They've been queuing up outside your apartment. I don't even know half of them. All of them _begging_ me to marry them. I'm guessing they heard about the wedding."

"Uh-huh."

"Oh, don't get jealous." He shrugged. "I mean, I understand why they're upset. I'd hate to break the hearts of hundreds of swooning females, but what to do."

"You do love fantasy, don't you?" A smile twitched at the corner of her lips. Two can play this game, she thought. "You remember Steve? From work, around a year ago?"

"The pathetic one who needed to get a life and followed you around puppy-eyed?"

"He was a cutie." She nodded and smiled into space. "A cutie in a uniform. With a very, very skilled mouth."

"You _kissed_ him?"

"Only once," she lied, loving the green that crept up his neck. "Maybe twice. Why, you jealous?"

"No. Yes. Heck, yeah." He pulled her close to him. "But anyone who comes between me and my woman starting now gets shot right between the eyes."

"I'll be sure to tell him."

"And anyone who comes between us will be pounded into meat patties. And any one who does—"

"Ned?"

"What?"

"Shut up, sweetie."

"Okay."

"Good boy." She gave him a rewarding pat on the head. "Now kiss me."

"Okay."

This time he was gentle. The kiss was slow, dangerously so, and lingering. He buried his hand in her hair, and heard her breath catch on a soft moan a few seconds into the kiss. He tilted his head, changed the angle a little, brushing his lips softly over hers again and again. The sweetness and tenderness of the kiss she returned reverberated incessantly through his senses.

"Ned," she whispered against his mouth. "My Ned."

Each time she said his name felt like a stroke, caress, and had emotions churning inside him. The sweetness was so unbearable, so delicate; he wanted everything to go slowly so he could remember every taste, every sound, every feeling. So he could cherish her to the maximum.

Her hands stroked his chest repeatedly, never wanting to stop. She took from his soft mouth what she needed, gave what he wanted before they finally broke.

"Steve's no competition for you," she murmured, eyes half-closed, her voice the merest breath.

"Good to know."

She chuckled softly. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Nancy." He squeezed her until she couldn't breathe. "Oh, so much."

She let out a soft, smug kitty-in-cream purr before she could stop herself.

"Dad called," she said a few minutes later. "He wants us to come to River Heights tomorrow for lunch. He says Hannah's been cooking like crazy all week for this."

"Oh goody."

"I think he wants to talk to you. You know, the usual I'll-pummel-you-if-you-ever-hurt-my-daughter kind of thing."

"Oh goody," he said less enthusiastically.

"Oh, don't worry," she said, chuckling, and ran a hand through his hair. "I think he's thawing up to you."

They remained silent for the next few minutes.

"Hey." She rested her cheek against his. "What're you thinking?"

He smiled, almost dreamily. "Just how wonderful it's going to be growing old and cranky with you."

"That's a romantic way to put it."

"Come here," he whispered.

She closed the distance between them, ensconced in his warm embrace. She rested her head on his chest, listened to his heart pound against her ear. Wordless, in the soundless calm, she lifted her head to his, touched her lips to his, and let the powerful range of feelings engulf them both; a merging of love, of hearts, of dreams and hopes, as his thumb scraped over the diamond on her finger.


End file.
